


Inspirations and Standing Ovations

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-04-24
Updated: 2007-04-24
Packaged: 2018-09-03 05:57:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8700019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: "They don’t see her, tucked away behind a rack of leather jackets--Dean’s dream-wear in every shape and state imaginable for filming. They’re too busy laughing, shouldering each other into the trailer and then, Jared slams Jensen against the wall."





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

**Inspirations and Standing Ovations**  
[jensen/jared, outside pov, nc-17, spoilers for 2x17 "Heart", 1,174 words]  
  
  
  
She normally writes scenes in Los Angeles…it’s just easier all around to separate herself from the actual goings-on and sink deep into fantasy, the doom and gloom of the Winchesters.  
  
When Eric calls, tosses around his ideas for the future, she can’t deny that it’s beyond time for a trip to Vancouver. And just as well, because the ambitions on her plate _this_ episode could do with some live-action motivation from the boys themselves, and Jared in particular.  
  
They don’t see her, tucked away behind a rack of leather jackets--Dean’s dream-wear in every shape and state imaginable for filming. They’re too busy laughing, shouldering each other into the trailer and then, Jared slams Jensen against the wall. The room shakes a little, Jensen’s pupils blow wide, and he’s got his hands up and under Jared’s thin undershirt before she can make her presence known.  
  
And it’s not that she’s a peeping Tom, but if they’re going to cavort around in a wardrobe trailer together, then she might as well take advantage, right? She’s a writer, an _artist_ , and artists seize inspiration wherever they can get it.  
  
Right now that inspiration comes in the form of two half-naked, sweating bodies. Wrapped tight around one another as Jared whispers, “C’mon, Jen…want you so much. Jus’ lemme get a feel…”  
  
Jensen chokes on a throaty laugh, pressed up tight between the wall of the trailer and Jared’s leg. “Not very professional.” But he doesn’t try and stop the inevitable from happening, just takes hold of Jared’s hair and drags the other man’s mouth to his own. “Someone could come in.” Chews, licks, rides Jared’s thigh with slow undulations that have her biting her _own_ lip and imagining the different ways this could go.  
  
In her mind, it’s darker, a bedroom. Instead of the racks of flannel and plaid, makeup counters and dressing tables, a fireplace crackles and sparks. She eyes Jared’s back, muscles rippling down the lean curve of his spine; a big white bed would be a gorgeous backdrop for all that honey-brown skin. Her fingers are almost itching to get it down on paper, disk. To see Sam’s passion finally brought to life.  
  
Wall slamming: check.  
  
Jensen’s got both hands in that mop of messy curls now, keening down deep in his chest and trying to force wide, talkative mouth right where he wants it. Later on, she might think of this encounter with less than writerly intentions, but for now…she drinks in Jensen’s reactions. Tries to picture whatever faceless actress to be cast in his place, slender leg wrapped tight around Jared’s-- _Sam’s_ \--middle, but then Jensen groans, cusses filthy-low, and ah hell, it’s not like she won’t be imagining it’s Dean, anyway.  
  
Jared’s a biter. It surprises her, but excites her muse, because she can _see_ it. She can _believe_ Sam being that desperate, that needy and repressed, and when Jared’s pearly teeth sink down again into Jensen’s shoulder, dragging up and along the column of his neck, she hums approvingly in the back of her throat. Gentle nips become harsher, punishing bites, and Jensen spreads out back-against-the-wall and _begs_ for it.  
  
“S’right, oh god. C’mon.” Cheeks flushed, neck twisted and she can almost catch a glimpse of the dark heat coloring green-gold eyes. But it’s Jared she’s focused on, the roll of his hips, his large hand walking up, _dwarfing_ Jensen’s back.   
  
“Want you on your knees,” he pants, no sign of the warm amusement she and everyone else is so familiar with. “Your hands.” Mouthing, _teething_ along Jensen’s collarbone, and she shivers a little. _Oh yes, Sam. There you are. Finally._ Jared’s voice takes on a husky-rich quality that has Jensen squirming restlessly, that almost-- _almost_ \--distracts her from the task at hand. “Fuck you open, deep, make you feel it, remember.”  
  
She’ll remember, all right.  
  
Would Sam talk dirty in bed? She likes to think so, especially now…watching with thumb between teeth and tongue as Jared jerks Jensen against him. Catches that pouty-pink mouth again and shoves a hand down between them. Jensen’s not fighting it, and why the hell would he? This is a powerplay like none other, a seduction worthy of the small-screen, and she’s gonna make sure it’s brought to life.  
  
“Blow you?” Jensen offers, voice shot and features dreamy. “Wanna fuck my mouth, Jay?” He chuckles when Jared growls against his neck, licking his lips and letting his head drop back against the wall. Eyes closed.  
  
“I already told you what I want.”  
  
“Then do it.” It’s an invitation and a challenge, and Jared doesn’t waste any time grabbing it with both hands--literally. Pulling and tugging until Dean’s ratty jeans are down, Jensen’s fingers are digging into the carpet. Jared comes down behind him, flattening Jensen against the floor and damn, but it’s network television. Can she get away with that? Maybe with some tasteful cuts, no dialogue sequence…  
  
Jared rolls on a condom, lubes up, and she’s thankful she won’t have to deal with _that_ during this scene. Worse thing a romance writer can imagine, disrupting the tension for safe-sex practices. Not that Jensen seems to mind, the way he’s bucking up against Jared, ass to dick.  
  
“Hurry,” he gasps, and it’s the sound every teenage girl in America wants to hear, assuming they know what’s good for them. That guttural, fucked-out voice just _begging._ “Gotta be… _oh yeah_ …on set soon. Fuck.”  
  
He cusses again, because Jared’s got him by the hips now, lips parted on staccato breaths, grunts. Sooty lashes flutter with every thrust, they fit together, and it’s gorgeous.   
  
  
 

xxx

  
  
  
The next time she sees them, it’s several weeks later. The episode’s starting production, supporting cast is set, and she’s got the greenlight from Kripke for this season’s Winchester bed-thumper.  
  
She takes a minute, eyeing the set, the crew, and then. _There._  
  
“Sera.” Jared’s dimples flash as she walks up, and he’s all that’s good and sweet and innocent wrapped up in a body that needs no introduction when it’s sweat-soaked and exposed. “Didn’t know you were coming in.”  
  
“Gotta present for you,” she says lightly, fingering the scripted add-on with satisfaction and, okay, maybe a little mischief. “Asked Eric if I could deliver it myself.”  
  
Jared looks confused for all of a second, and then realization dawns bright across his features. He laughs a little, rubs the back of his neck, but she’s not fooled by the show of modesty. Not anymore. Sure enough, his voice takes a turn for devilish. “So, how naked did you get me?”  
  
“It’s nothing you can’t handle.” Easy and assuring, she hands over the updated script and waits until he starts leafing through it. “Think of it…as a standing ovation,” she adds, noting the shock on his face, the realization. When his gaze meet hers again, there’s a hint of amused admiration in those tip-tilted cat eyes. Maybe a little embarrassment, too, but he plays it off, because it’s who he is.  
  
“Well, fuck.” Soft, honey-drawl.   
  
She smiles. “This time, save it for the camera.”


End file.
